


Sin to Heaven

by Lise



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Angst, Cullen Has Issues, Cullen Whump, Demons, F/M, Gen, POV Cullen Rutherford, Psychological Torture, What Happened at Kinloch Hold, copious quotation of the Chant of Light, me messing with Cullen's head a lot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-05
Updated: 2017-05-05
Packaged: 2018-10-28 11:36:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10830465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lise/pseuds/Lise
Summary: The dissolution of Cullen Rutherford.





	Sin to Heaven

**Author's Note:**

> Blame/thank [Lena](http://portraitoftheoddity.tumblr.com) for this, who enabled my extant Cullen feelings into fic. 
> 
> This is my first ever foray into Dragon Age fanfiction! And of course it figures that the first foray would look like this, and also feature everyone's (?) favorite (??) disaster human, Cullen Rutherford. 
> 
> Many thanks to my beta, [Amelia](http://ameliarating.tumblr.com), who puts up with so much.

 

> _Marvel at perfection, for it is fleeting.  
>  __You have brought Sin to Heaven  
>  __And doom upon all the world._ (Canticle of Threnodies, 8:13) 

There are things all Templars are told in training.

_Demons will try to tempt you,_ they say. _But if your heart is strong, you will not falter._ _Resist. And in the end, be merciless._

_A demon will strike where your will is weakest,_ they say. _So your will must be as iron. Know your weaknesses. Meditate on them. And purge them from yourself._

_A mage can turn without warning,_ they say. _Even the strongest may fall. You must be ever vigilant, ever watchful. We are the shield of the world._

_Be steadfast, be strong._

Cullen looks at the dead bodies of his fellows, the blood splashed against the wall, and weeps.

* * *

They leave him in his armor.

It is as clear a mockery as if they spat in his face. The armor is useless against the magic that holds him - his attempts to use his own abilities to dispel it are utterly fruitless and only lead to laughter. He has his armor, but it only serves to make mock of what he is supposed to be.

A Templar. Shield against the evil mages can do.

_Who are you protecting now?_

No one. Not even himself. Armor or no armor, he’s never felt so vulnerable. So _helpless._ And no one is coming to save him.

Cullen can hear screaming in the distance. Maker! How is anyone still alive to scream? Or have the abominations begun to turn on each other? He can’t take his eyes off Ser Morien’s body, the lower half of his jaw torn free and his entrails spilling out on the floor. _Maker, though the darkness comes upon me, I shall embrace the Light. I shall weather the storm-_

Morien stirs. Cullen jerks back, sucking in a breath as the Templar rises to his feet, movements jerky, a disjointed puppet dangling from invisible strings. Filmy eyes seem to stare at Cullen as he takes one step forward, then another. Cullen chokes, stumbling away until his back hits the barrier that cages him.

A garbled noise comes from his ruined face. Someone trying to talk without a jaw. Cullen imagines he can still hear the words: _how could you._

Morien - _not Morien, this_ thing _is not him -_ crumples, slumping against the barrier, sliding down to the floor. Uldred stands there, watching him.

“Cullen Rutherford, is it?” He says.

_Get away from me,_ Cullen wants to say, but all words seem to have deserted him.

“I am glad one of you is alive, at least,” Uldred says. His eyes are empty; nothing human behind them. “To watch your Tower crumble.”

Cullen’s teeth are chattering. “Abomination,” he manages to say at last. “You have no power over me-”

“There you are wrong,” Uldred says. “I have power of life and death over you. But it is so much sweeter to make your kind break.”

“ _There was no word,_ ” Cullen says loudly. “ _For heaven or for earth, for sea or sky._ ” Uldred’s laughter makes his mind go blank of the rest, though. _A mage can turn without warning._

“Do you think the Chant will make me flee? Foolish boy.” Uldred’s eyes glitter. “Perhaps I will return for you, when I am done. If there is anything left by then, it would be amusing to have a pet Templar.”

He would like to shout defiance. To say _something._ Cullen’s throat closes and he can only stare as Uldred ascends the stairs into the Harrowing chamber. Morien’s corpse lies sprawled on the stone floor, still staring. Cullen sinks to his knees and scrabbles for the words.

“ _Maker, my enemies are abundant. Many are those who rise up against me, but my faith sustains me…_ ”

_Be steadfast._

* * *

“Cullen?”

He opens his eyes. The screaming from above has gone quiet, and despite knowing what it means Cullen is grateful for the respite.

She’s kneeling in front of him, one hand against the barrier. Cullen stares at her blankly. He licks his lips. “You’re gone,” he manages to say. “You went...you went with the Warden. To Ostagar.” The Grey Wardens died at Ostagar.

“I came back,” she said. “Let me help you.”

She’s beautiful. He remembers stuttering and stammering, tongue tying itself in knots. Not letting himself think of her as anything but _Apprentice Surana_ because anything else would be dangerous, inappropriate, wrong.

She’s dead.

_A demon will strike where your will is weakest…_

“You’re not here,” Cullen says, looking directly at her. “You’re not real.”

Her eyebrows rise. Surely no demon could imitate that expression so perfectly. Surely. “I admit I expected a little more gratitude.”

Cullen shakes his head. He wants to close his eyes, but refuses. _Be steadfast, be strong._ “I have no gratitude for demons. Begone! I will not surrender to you.”

Her lips curve in a very small, slightly wicked smile. He knows that expression, too. “Oh, but wouldn’t it be fun if you did?”

Dangerous, inappropriate, wrong. He _wants_ it with a desperation that burns in his belly. “No,” he says, with all the force he can muster. “ _No._ I don’t - I won’t-”

Her features stretch, distort. “Pity,” she murmurs. “I almost had you, didn’t I?”

“No,” Cullen says. He’s not sure he trusts himself to do anything else. “Get away from me, demon. I will not be tempted.”

“But you are,” she says. “You _are_ tempted. You have always been tempted. You looked at her with lust, _wanting._ ”

Cullen shakes his head, hard, and she laughs at him, standing.

“Maybe you can lie to yourself, little Templar,” she says, “but you can’t lie to me.” Her eyes glitter, lovely and unnatural. “I’ll let you rest. We can continue this conversation later.”

* * *

“Help me,” Mia says, her fingers clawing for purchase on the floor as an abomination drags her away. “Cullen, help me!”

_It’s not real. She’s not here. She’s safe-_

“Cullen!” Her screams sound just right. Just like Mia. Cullen squeezes his eyes closed. “ _Though all before me is shadow, yet shall the Maker be my guide-_ ”

A rage demon rises up out of the floor and Mia’s screams reach a fever pitch. Cullen can smell burnt flesh. _Don’t you want to save her?_ A whisper in his ear, soft and poisonous. _You could be her hero. You could be strong enough to break this cage and slay all of them. Cleanse the rot in this Tower._

Cullen bites his lip. “No,” he says. “No, I won’t.” The pride demon laughs, and Mia stops screaming. She steps forward, shedding Mia’s skin as she comes. The desire demon stood in front of him, for the time being wearing no form but her own. She looks amused.

“I told you,” she says, not to him. “This one is harder than that. And mine.”

“No,” Cullen says, futile. “Not yours.” He is glad, almost, for the thin barrier of magic that separates him. It is a perverse kind of safety. One foulness shielding him from another. “You’ll have to kill me first.”

“Kill you?” She laughs again, and as suddenly as that is _her_ again. “Like you would have killed me, at my Harrowing?”

_Stop it,_ Cullen wants to say, like a child. _“Though all before me,_ ” he starts to say, and she shakes her head.

“Don’t quote the Chant at me, Cullen. That’s...Canticle of Trials, right? Am I a _trial_ to you?”

_Shut up. Go away._ He closes his eyes.

“Would you have hesitated, if they told you to strike me down?” That’s the question, isn’t it? Cullen wondered at the time if the Knight-Commander had noticed that he...that he _liked_ Apprentice Surana. If it hadn’t been a test, choosing Cullen for her Harrowing.

“This isn’t real,” he says. “I _know_ it isn’t real. You’re not her.”

“I could be if you wanted. She’s dead. I am not.”

“No,” he says again. “Get away from me.”

_Be steadfast. Be strong._

_(What good did steadfast and strong do the rest of them?_ A poisonous whisper, and it could be his or it might not. _You’re the only one left alive. See what all their training comes to in the end. Do you really want to be just another corpse on the floor?_ )

Better that than a demon’s plaything, Cullen tells himself. He will not break.

_(Not yet.)_

* * *

He is lying on a grassy knoll outside of Honnleath, the sun warm on his face. He can hear Calenhad chasing Mia’s son, his delighted shrieks interspersed with gleeful barking. The tension bleeds out of his shoulders. Why had he been so tense to begin with? There is nothing he needs to worry about.

“Cullen! Are you just going to lie there all day?”

He groans and sits up. “Just a…” He trails off. _Something’s wrong._

Mia raises her eyebrows at him. “Get moving. Someone needs to do the dishes and it’s not going to be me.”

“Mia,” he says, and falters. He presses a hand to his forehead. “Something is...something’s strange.”

“Other than you?” She shakes her head, though, frowning. “Is it the lyrium headaches?”

“I can fix that,” says a familiar voice, and Cullen’s entire body clenches. He turns, in spite of himself. She smiles at him, small and wry, and Cullen feels like he’d missed a step going down.

_No._

“This isn’t real,” he says, scrambling for the feeling of stone under his knees. “You can’t trap me like this.”

“Trap you?” She gives Mia a worried look. “What happened?”

“I don’t know,” she says. “He just started…”

“Get away from me,” Cullen says, scrambling to his feet. He turns, but Mia’s son (Malcolm, he remembers, _not remembers_ , _not memory_ ) is staring at him, Calenhad sitting with his head cocked, whining softly. “Stop it,” he says, too loudly. “Stop it, _get out of my head._ ”

She takes his wrist, his arm, pulls him around. Lays a hand against his face. “Cullen,” she says. “Just relax. You’re safe. You know this.”

For a second, he does. He fights it, shakes his head and closes his eyes.

“I don’t want this,” he says. “I don’t want - _let me go._ ”

She lets go, but her voice sounds hurt. “I thought we were past this.”

He remembers - _no,_ they aren’t memories, none of this is real, the Tower is real, the demons are real-

Cullen stumbles back. Calenhad nudges his leg with his nose and Cullen scrambles away from him, too. “End this,” he says. There is a sword in his hand and he holds it out in front of him. “Stop playing _games._ ”

She steps forward, hands raised, and Cullen roars and lunges forward, drives the sword through her stomach and up, out her back. She gasps, looking up at him and blinking, wide-eyed. Not the demon’s face. Hers, and Cullen’s stomach clenches.

“Why?” She asks. “I thought we were happy.”

She goes limp, eyes turning dull. Cullen lets go of the blade, gasping for breath. He turns to Mia, but she looks shocked, horrified, backing away like she fears him.

The mabari laughs. “Look at that,” it says in the demon’s voice, tongue lolling. “You did slaughter her. Is _that_ what you want? You cannot - or will not allow yourself to have her, so no one can?”

Cullen looks at the blood soaking into the grass and wide eyes staring upward and turns away, retching. “It’s not real,” he says again. “None of this is - none of it-”

“What is real?” She asks. “How do you know?” Cullen shudders.

“Not this,” he says.

“Is it because it is too pleasant?” The mabari changes back into the demon. “Would you rather I hurt you, Cullen? Bruised and beat you, _forced_ you to submit?” Cullen flinches and she smiles. “You’ve fantasized about that. Your mage holding you down while she rides you. The shame you feel thinking it just adds an extra kick.”

“Stop,” Cullen says. “I will not-” There is something pleading in his voice. He hates it.

“Or what,” she says, shifting forms again. “You’ll stab me?”

“I will,” Cullen promises. “I will. I’ll kill you.”

“Promises, promises.”

* * *

“ _When I have lost all else,_ ” Cullen says, squeezing his eyes closed and rocking back and forth. “ _When I have lost all else, when my eyes fail me, and the taste of blood fills my mouth, then-_ ”

Then-

He can’t remember what comes next. It doesn’t matter what comes next. The Maker isn’t here. No one is here. It’s just him, and them, and he’s starting to forget why he’s fighting so hard.

But he does remember. Looking at the corpses lying broken on the floor, his brothers, his _friends,_ is reminder enough. He just wishes he were dead with them. He’s starting to realize that they were lucky. They went down fighting.

Whereas he’s…

He’s going to lose. Cullen’s starting to accept that as inevitable. They won’t kill him, and he can’t fight forever. Either he’ll go mad or he’ll give in. He’s almost hoping for the first.

Maker send Greagoir is alive. Maker send he’s called for the Rite of Annulment, to scour this tower clean. There’s nothing left here worth saving.

_The taste of blood fills my mouth, then, in the pounding of my heart, I hear-_

All Cullen hears is the echo of screaming. He’s no longer sure if someone is actually screaming or if it’s just in his head.

The demon is wearing _her_ shape again, sitting with her chin in her hand, cross-legged on the floor. “You’re wearing a little thin, Cullen,” she says. “I leave and you pine away to nothing, is that it?”

“Don’t talk to me,” he mumbles. “Don’t use her voice. I know what you are.”

“And what am I?” She asks softly. “A mage? Is that what you mean? Will you hate me for that?”

“A demon,” Cullen says. “You are a demon.”

“That’s rather a point of view.” She leans forward. “You templars. Always so certain that anything _sweet_ must be evil. That want is temptation. That to desire is sin. To desire is _human_.” Her smile is almost gentle. “How can that be such a bad thing?”

This is where the Chant should come to his lips. It doesn’t. Cullen shakes his head. “I don’t want you,” he whispers. His voice is hoarse.

“But I am what you have.” She shifts forward, moving to her knees and then to her feet. She walks forward through the barrier and Cullen jerks back.

“You-”

“You thought that would hold me back? I hold you in the palm of my hand, sweet boy.” She crouches down again and he shrinks back. “Let me show you,” she says, reaching out. “Let me show you what I can give you.”

“No,” Cullen says, but his back is against the wall and he has nowhere to go. “No, please, stop-”

She cradles his face in her hands and kisses him. Her lips are warm. _Demons will try to tempt you. If your heart is strong, you will not falter._

_Maker, please,_ Cullen thinks, holding perfectly still, but the Maker is not here. No one is here. No one is coming, and as she peels away his armor a layer at a time Cullen feels the first fracture.

* * *

She comes back.

She’s a Grey Warden now. Her eyes are harder.

Cullen is proud that he manages to make it down the stairs without falling. There are bodies everywhere; so much blood, the stench of it soaked into the very stones. They tell him Uldred is dead, that the mages are safe.

There’s no such thing, Cullen wants to say. _A mage can turn without warning._ None of them saw Uldred coming. There might be others. This whole place, poisoned at the root, and sometimes Cullen isn’t sure the barrier fell at all, isn’t sure he’s not still there. _What is real? How do you know?_

Apprentice Surana - Warden Surana, now - doesn’t look at him twice. Cullen is glad of it. When he stares at her he thinks he can see her face distort.

His comrades look at him like he’s tainted, broken. Or maybe they don’t, and it’s just that Cullen feels that way. There are mages all around, helping clean the Tower, scrub the blood from the floors. Every time one glances at him he flinches. He keeps seeing them smile out of the corner of his eye; their eyes seem to be hollow with a demon looking out.

_It’s over,_ the Knight-Commander tells him, squeezing his shoulder. But how can he know that?

How can he be _sure?_

 

> _Passing out of the world, in that Void shall they wander;_  
>  _O unrepentant, faithless, treacherous,_  
>  _They who are judged and found wanting  
>  __Shall know forever the loss of the Maker's love.  
>  __Only Our Lady shall weep for them._ (Canticle of Threnodies, 12:5)

 


End file.
